


slaves to any semblance of touch

by Bluebox_Parchment



Series: Everything We Are [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Breathplay, Drug Use, Endverse, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Part 3, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Switching, also a generous helping of schmoop at the end, but you don't need to have read either of the first two parts just saying, complete and total filth, not much, shameless fucking, slight mentions of choking, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:10:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebox_Parchment/pseuds/Bluebox_Parchment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Go," Cas says with a wave of his hand. "Do leadery things, Dean." But Dean doesn't shift from the side of his bed. "I'm fine," he adds, and wishes it were true.<br/>"Thought they were Croats," Dean whispers to him. Cas isn't sure why this might be a secret. Dean's eyes flicker towards the bead-covered door and then back to Cas. "Thought I was gonna have to shoot you in the head."</p>
            </blockquote>





	slaves to any semblance of touch

**Author's Note:**

> Sedated we're nursing on a poison that never stung, our teeth and lungs are lined with the scum of it.  
> Somewhere for this, death and guns, we are deaf, we are numb, free and young and we can feel none of it.  
> Hozier, Sedate

Considering the camp was home to five resident vampires these days, Cas thought he could be given the benefit of the doubt when it came to tangling with them. Most of them had allied themselves with humanity, had offered up their strength, their speed, their complete lack of morals, to fight the good fight for a change, in exchange for the occasional drag of blood from a vein.

Most vamps chowed down on Croats. They weren't particularly appetising in the way a hamburger ain't exactly a steak, but they did the trick and they kept the vamps ticking. So Cas feels that upon stumbling into a nest of three vamps that he was probably doing the right thing by offering them the same deal they'd offered the last five.

There was something really fucking annoying about vampires at the end of the world that chose to starve themselves until they could chow down on humans and humans alone. Nasty assholes like that just didn't know when to quit.

In seconds, he's thrown against a wall and feels his shoulder dislocate. Then a sharp set of fangs are sinking into the meat of his abused shoulder, whilst another is going for his calf.

Absolutely wonderful. This was gonna take weeks to bounce back from. The broken ankle had been the fucking worst.

Can't get to his machete, or his gun. Can't really fucking move at all. Just great. Mother fucking -

There's a gun shot. And then another.

And another.

The weight on top of him disappears and it's followed by the unmistakeable swoosh of a blade through the air followed by a sickening thwak of metal meeting blood, muscle and bone.

Across his slightly fuzzy vision, Cas watches a severed head roll across the floor.

"They turn you?" Dean's gruff voice barks overhead.

"No. Fucked my shoulder though."

Dean huffs and drags him to his feet unceremoniously. Without a word he steers him outta the front door of the abandoned house he'd been searching through and towards the jeep on the other side of the cracked road.

He lets go and swings round to the bed, hastily unzip a duffel and presses a bottle of shitty, cheap whiskey into Cas good hand. "Drink up," he orders, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Cas swigs a mouthful. It tastes like crap and burns every inch of his throat it drips down. He takes another mouthful. Dean plucks the bottle out of his hand and sloshes some onto the bite marks on Cas' shoulder.

He tuts when Cas hisses, then without warning, his broad hands are on Cas' chest and back and he's popping the joint back in to place.

Cas swears loudly, pain shooting through his system and then ebbing slightly until it was nothing more than a dull throb.

"Better?"

"Fuck you," Cas mutters.

Dean throws him a genuine grin. "Strap in, s'go back."

***

Dean hovers like a mother hen once Cas is back in his cabin. He steers Cas to the bed and orders him to rest up, he makes him tea - the Earl Grey kind that he purposefully went into a hot zone for cause he knew that was Cas' favourite kind - offers to run him a bath, and only stops short of plumping Cas' pillows when Cas pulls a bottle of pills from his bedside table and starts to chug them like candy.

"Go," Cas says with a wave of his hand. "Do leadery things, Dean." But Dean doesn't shift from the side of his bed. "I'm fine," he adds, and wishes it were true.

"Thought they were Croats," Dean whispers to him. Cas isn't sure why this might be a secret. Dean's eyes flicker towards the bead-covered door and then back to Cas. "Thought I was gonna have to shoot you in the head."

Comprehension filters through Cas' bloodstream along with the shitty whiskey and codeine. "Just vamps."

"Just vamps," Dean echoes.

Abruptly, he storms towards the door and Cas reckons Dean's taken his earlier advise and is off to be their fearless leader. Instead, he pulls the door shut, locks it, and then hastily drags the drapes across the windows.

He's back by Cas in a flash after that, kneeling down in front of him and pressing a tender kiss to his lips. The kiss speaks volumes more than what Dean might ever be able to form in to words. It tells tales of relief and sighs sonnets of love as he licks his way into Cas' mouth. He kneads his hands into Cas' thighs, and touches their foreheads together. The silence says, I can't loose you, not like that, not now, not ever, and Cas reaches out with his good hand and cards his fingers through Dean's short tresses. "I know," he whispers, because it's the truth. He always knows. To him, Dean Winchester is an open book, written in a language only he could ever hope to understand.

He could blame the pills for how pliant he becomes under Dean's warm hands, but he knows that's a fucking lie. He allows Dean to flip him over, finds the position much more agreeable on his shoulder anyway, and enjoys the weight of Dean's body as he straddles the back of Cas' thighs and leans down to nip kisses at his neck.

He hums contentedly as Dean's hands slide across his bare skin and begins to knead at the small of his back. His thumbs press little circles into his skin, smoothing out knots and chasing away aches. Dean's hands ride higher and higher, working with precision, and Cas just goes with it. Closes his eyes and sinks in to the mattress, giving over to the sensation.

Dean's hands still and become exceptionally careful as he gets to Cas' bad shoulder. He skims the flesh around it, marking out Cas' shoulder blade with the side of his palm and testing Cas' reactions to a hand against the tender muscle. Dean takes this exact moment to lean down, mouth at the pulse point of Cas' neck and grind his cock against the swell of Cas' ass.

Cas feels flooded, swamped with the feel of contentedness and need all thrown together at once, and he's suddenly wired as hell. "Oh," he whispers into his flat pillow, and he can feel Dean's grin against his skin.

"Oh," Dean says back, all light and teasing. He nibbles at Cas' earlobe and says softly, "Really don't like seeing someone else's teeth marks on you."

And then his weight is gone and Cas feels cold and shivery.

Cas groans into the mattress in frustration and pulling his knees under him, contemplating sitting upright. "First of all, it's not like I even wanted these bite marks," and second, you're an asshole, oh Fearless Leader." He stills when he feels Dean's hands back on his hips, squeezes his eyes tight shut when his blunt nails catch at his feverish skin, and lets go of the breath he was holding when Dean pulls down his loose yoga pants, leans in and licks.

Cas lets rip a strangled cry which does very little to dissuade Dean's tongue from it's assault. The noises Dean is making are utterly filthy and it doesn't take long for Cas to start jutting his hips in circular motions, seeking out anything akin to friction he can find.

He fists his hands into the sheets and whines when Dean circles his hole with the tip of his tongue before chasing it with the pad of his thumb.

Dean pants hard breaths against the skin of his ass and shifts his weight from leg to leg, moving away from Cas momentarily.

The fallen angel is about to protest - and loudly - for being left so strung out, but he holds the complaint on the end of his tongue at the sound of the little bottle of lube clicking open.

And then Dean's tongue is back in place, long languid swipes across Cas' semi loose hole, darting in to taste him at regular intervals. "What'd you think?" Dean mumbles against his fever-hot skin, ghosting the tip of one lubed finger against his entrance. "This what you want?"

He doesn't wait for any kind of reply, just works his way into Cas' ass. Dean barely lets Cas get used to the sensation before he adds a second one and starts to scissor away. The prep's too quick, too messy, Dean's usually so careful with him that Cas finds this a welcome change of pace.

Cas thrusts his leaking cock against his own thighs, chasing the feel of it like he would a high. And if it weren't for the pills he'd've probably made a mess all over the bed already. A third finger and Cas starts thrusting back onto the fingers in earnest. "That all you got?" he pants.

Dean removes his fingers, grabs at Cas' hips to angle himself better. More lube, Dean's heavy breathing behind him, and then the hunter is lining himself up and pressing in. Cas feels his entrance give, groans out as he takes Dean in. Fuck, it felt good, so so fucking good. Dean gives tiny little thrusts of his hips and _this_ is the Dean Cas is much more used to seeing... well... _fucking_.

But it's not quite hitting the spot, his body craves so much more. " _Dean_ ," Cas growls into the mattress and Dean's resolve crumbles. He slams his hips forwards, _hard_ , and Cas hums happily and braces himself for more.

Dean's merciless, desperate. His grip at Cas' hips slides from the lube and he growls in frustration.

His sweaty forehead presses into Cas' damaged shoulder a his hips lose their rhythm momentarily as he reaches down and knots his fingers through Cas' own.

Cas anchors him, squeezes Dean's hands tight and urges him on with a moaned, _more_ and a panted, _harder_.

"Want this," Dean breaths in his ear.

Cas isn't quite sure what Dean's trying to tell him, considering he's pretty sure Dean is getting exactly what he wants anyway, so he just hums and nods, lets his eyes drop closed and half wishes Dean'd take a hint and make a lose fist around his cock. If he's gonna get off he's gonna need a bit more than this.

Sweat slides down the dip of his spine and he ruts back against Dean, just as Dean bites at his earlobe and says, "No. Want this. For me." Cas stills his own movements, but Dean doesn't notice. There are teeth scraping at his neck and a panted, "I'm showing you what I want."

 _Oh_.

When Cas begins to thrust back again, Dean's movements become erratic. His hips stutter and so does his voice when he breaths, "N-need," into Cas' ear. "Cas, need you. To give me-"

Dean comes with a desperate, keening noise, his face buried into the crook of Cas' shoulder and holding on to the fallen angels hands so tightly that his knuckles glow white in the semi-darkness.

Cas barely has time to think before Dean is pulling out of him carelessly and is nudging him up the bed with a forehead against his butt. _Move_.

He can feel his heart drumming violently in his chest, hear it thrumming a tattoo in his head, and he rolls off the bed, his ass feeling tender and loose.

And then he's watching as Dean - who's on all fours - starts working his fingers into his own ass with soft moans and trembling hands.

It's the first time Dean's ever vocalised what he wants. Usually Cas just goes on instinct when it comes to getting their fearless leader off. Usually it's a lot of rutting, or a blow job. Occasionally, Dean'll fuck him as mercilessly as he did just now. But this?

Cas lets go of a shaky breath, just as the hunter works another finger into his ass and moans, "Cas _please_ ," and that voice, that needy, hungry voice, makes Cas feel like his blood is on fire.

His cock leaks pre-come against his stomach, and he licks dry lips and _craves_. Booze, pills or the taste of Dean on his tongue, he's not quite figured out which yet, but he goes for the trifecta all the same.

He twists open the codeine again and knocks back a handful with a swig of the shitty whiskey and lets the pills dull his senses lest he blow his load from the sight of Dean on the bed just waiting for him to get to work.

When he climbs back onto the bed, Dean's fingers stop their clever ministrations and he sighs with relief, his whole body unravelling before Cas' eyes. Carefully, Cas reaches out to stroke a broad hand down Dean's spine like he would a wild animal. "I'm here," he says softly, watching Dean nod in the ever-growing darkness.

A gentle kiss at the base of Dean's spine causes the hunter to shudder. Cas moves slowly, and with a measured level of caution. He still can't believe what Dean's asked him to do.

Another kiss, slightly lower than the last and he can feel the anticipation flaring through Dean's skin. Cas drops the next kiss even lower still and his bottom lip catches at the top of Dean's entrance and the hunter gives off an involuntary whine. Cas smirks - knows Dean feels it - and then darts his tongue forwards.

Cas eats Dean out with his well practised tongue and the cabin is filled with the sound of Dean's gasped breath and Cas' hummed delight. He could get Dean off like this, he knows. Knows because even though it's barely been five minutes since the hunter came last, he's already rutting back and moaning softly into the mattress. Knows because the longer he's at this the more worked up Dean's getting and that knowledge goes straight to Cas' heavy dick.

He pauses, gasping for breath and searches blindly for the bottle of lube. A couple of times he gets Dean's foot, and the hunter gives of huffed giggles - _giggles_ \- each time. "You could help," Cas mutters, his breath ghosting across Dean's sweat-slick skin.

"Other side of the bed, dumbass."

Barely able to tear his eyes away from Dean's ass in the air, Cas starts groping across the other side of the mattress. Finally his hands land on the bottle and he begins to slick up his fingers.

He resolves to string this out as much as he possibly can. Works Dean open as slowly and as carefully as the hunter usually does him. Even when Dean pants and begs for _more, more, Cas, fuck me, fuck me_ , he doesn't. He won't just yet.

Cas knows this slow torture of pleasure. Of clever fingers brushing every little nerve ending until each and every one has ignited. How the secondary tremors flare through your body like the aftershocks of an earthquake, cresting one after the other, need and want and yes, _fuck_ , yes.

By the time Cas is fucking him with three fingers, Dean is thrusting back onto them, mouthing off with every thrust. The words pouring past Dean's lips are nothing short of pornography, and though Cas has to fight his cock's insistence that yes, it would very much like to join in now, Cas won't. Won't give in to Dean's mouthy demands.

Instead, he crooks his fingers just slightly and Dean promptly shuts the fuck up with a string of panted, ah's.

And whilst Dean is breathless and reeling, Cas gently removes his fingers, quickly lubes up his dick and pushes in to Dean's inviting hole.

Cas squeezes his eyes shut at the hot heat of Dean's ass enveloping him and sends a quick prayer of thanks to his drug habit for ensuring his champion stamina.

Dean on the other hand, is utterly wrecked. He pushes his hips back so he meets each of Cas' thrusts with a choked off moan and the sight of his ass taking Cas' cock is the single hottest thing he's ever seen.

Cas drapes himself forwards, chest to Dean's back, and peppers kisses across Dean's shoulder blades, still thrusting into Dean in a steady rhythm that shows no sign of faltering just yet.

Then Dean holds out his hands, splaying his fingers to invite Cas to slot them back together. And Cas can't deny that's a tempting offer. He's already reaching across the bed when he gets a better idea and changes course.

He slinks an arm around Dean's front instead, swiping the pad of his thumb across Dean's pebble-hard nipple, then to the other, before settling on a vice-like hold on Dean's right hip. With his left hand, his grip slack, yet still demanding, Cas gets hold of Dean's throat.

It's a gamble, something like this might very well make Dean too skittish, might freak him out too much, but it doesn't.

With the slightest note of pressure, Cas guides Dean upright, and the hunter goes with it, pliant to Cas' desires.

The angle now changed, Dean drops his head back onto Cas' shoulder and rocks down harder still onto Cas' cock. And Cas gets the most beautiful view of Dean's slack jaw, his heavy-lidded eyes, the rivets of sweat trickling from his hairline. His face the utter picture of blissed out rapture.

He makes to move the hand from Dean's throat - doesn't want to push his luck - but Dean shakes his head wildly, snatches out with his own hand and guides it back into place. Cas smiles into Dean's neck, swipes his tongue down the chord of his throat tasting salt and sex and says, "Okay," into Dean's skin.

He bites bruises to Dean's collar bone and tightens his grip just a little further, choking off his airway just enough to slow Dean's oxygen intake. To make his body feel all warm and sluggish. An over exposed nerve of sensation.

Cas thrusts his hips ferociously and with every snap, Dean huffs a soft _oh_ into the darkness of the cabin. And he can feel his own orgasm building, knows this is gonna blind him. Knows if he were still an angel his climax would trigger a supernova in some far distant galaxy.

He lets go of Dean's hip, noticing bruises have already blossomed along the sensitive skin, and reaches out to make a loose fist around Dean's cock. Dean's moans catch in his throat as he whimpers and begins to thrust into Cas' hand in time with each of Cas' thrusts to his ass.

Cas buries his face into the crook of Dean's neck, mimicking exactly what Dean had done to him earlier and nibbles at the skin. "Come," he breathes desperately into Dean's ear. "Come for me."

Dean's hands scrape at his own thighs, his ass clenches tightly around Cas' dick and he spills hot and white over Cas' fist.

Dean goes boneless against him, his skin fever hot and shining with sweat, and it's all Cas can do to keep going. He's close - so fucking painfully close - and Dean is a beautiful, wrecked picture. Flushed red chest, stripes of come coating his belly, a tiny crease marring his forehead and shaking lips forming around a breathed prayer of, _fuck Cas, fuck fuck fuck._

It takes only the slightest of harder thrusts to nudge Dean forwards, for Cas to topple the pair of them face down onto the mattress. They bounce just slightly, and Dean makes a half-noise of surprised indignation, but goes with it. Allows Cas to pin him there with his wicked hips, to wrap his arms around Dean's chest tight and get a grip on the scarred hand print, and fuck into him mercilessly.

His rhythm grows increasingly erratic, and it draws moans past Dean's lips that sound close to sobs.

Cas' breath burns in his lungs from the exertion, his body feels wired and exposed, a swirl of pleasure and a splash of violence, readying itself to blow.

With a few last urgent thrusts, Cas let's himself go and is blinded by the sight of the supernova he might once have been.

He collapses forwards on top of Dean, whose body is shaking violently, and can barely think to do a single thing else.

So he breathes.

His pitifully human heart hammers a rampant beat in time with Dean's and he makes only slight attempts to move. A single soft kiss to the bruising teeth marks, a brush of his nose through the wet tresses at the base of Dean's neck, a gently thumb smoothing circles against the raised burn under his hand.

Through the haze of pleasure and codeine, and the soundtrack of their panted breathing in the darkness of the cabin, Cas confesses, "Love you like this," in a whisper.

Dean stills. Holds his breath and Cas' stomach drops out from under him.

He's blown it. The mutually sated atmosphere is blown from the room like a hurricane just tore through the beaded curtain, and Cas hates himself. They never say the L word.

And though the effort is monumental, Cas rolls off of Dean, and sits on the edge of the bed wincing at the pain in his ass. He rakes filthy fingers through his filthier hair and flinches when his shoulder start to scream at him in pain again.

His heart is pounding in a way that has nothing to do with the marathon of sex he's just fucked his way through.

Stupid angel. Stupidier human. Heaven forbid he admit how he feels. A wave of nausea rolls through him and pressure starts to build behind his eyes. He lets rip a derisive laugh and is seconds away from pushing off the bed when a hand splays between his shoulder blades. He startles and turns to find one brilliant green eye gleaming through the darkness, peaking out from a gap in Dean's arms. "Yeah," Dean whispers, his voice sticking in his throat. "Love this too, Cas."

Terror seeps out of Cas - when had he even started to panic? -  and he finds he's nodding.

Dean shifts, jostling the bed, and throws an arm across Cas' middle. Still nodding, Cas allows himself to be tugged back down beside the other man.

"We should shower," Cas says after approximately five seconds.

"In the morning." Dean's reply is almost swallowed by the pillow.

"Dean, we're covered in sweat, lube, come, and in my case, blood, we should -"

"Fine, fine," Dean huffs, rolling out of the bed with a grunt.

Cas watches Dean navigate his way through the darkness with ease, scrubbing his hands down his face and yawning. He pauses in the doorway to Cas' shitty little bathroom and turns back towards him. "You not coming after all that?"

Cas clambers from the bed and staggers across the room, wishing his legs would cooperate with his brain.

Dean gets the water going in the tiny shower, testing it a few times before ascertaining that it's warm enough and climbing inside and dragging Cas after him.

Cas winces as the water hits his wounded shoulder and Dean somehow manages to surge forwards in the confines of the tiny cubicle shower to fuss and check the bite marks and the bruising. He's astounded by the tenderness of Dean's movements and can't quite believe the domesticity of the whole thing. "It's fine," Cas says unnecessarily, attempting to bat Dean's hands away and failing.

Dean casts him a bitch face Sam would be impressed by and Cas feels his mood momentarily darken at the thought of the younger Winchester.

"Cas, turn around, lemme see -" Dean starts, but Cas cuts him off with a soft kiss and a shit-eating smile.

"No."

He lets his eyes rove the hunter's face greedily. Kiss-bruised lips, jawline darkened with stubble, brilliant green eyes highlighted with dark smudges. There's a smirk playing about those soft lips as Dean echoes, "No?"

It's times like these were the old Dean peaks back through, the same one that'd dragged him to a hooker and assured him he'd get him enthusiastically laid if it were to be his last night on earth. The Dean from before the apocalypse, the one these people in camp had never had the privileged to meet - save for Chuck - who had poked fun at Sam and didn't have to shoulder the weight of the world alone. Killing his Lucifer-possessed little brother was a burden Dean alone was forced to carry, but Cas hopes the hunter before him knows he'd never have to take that journey alone.

"No," Cas confirms solemnly. He takes a half step forwards under the warm spray and pins Dean to the tiled wall with his hips. He licks into his mouth greedily, knotting his fingers through Dean's short tresses to angle the kiss better.

The reappearances of the old Dean are few and far between these days, but Cas plans to make the most of them when they appear. He breathes, "I love you," into Dean's open mouth, and means it. And Dean wraps his arms around him and says it back, sounding surprised at his own words.

The veneer of strong leader, of asshole Winchester, of unfeeling, unwanting shell, was left at the door of the cabin some hours ago.

Cas kisses him once more and says, "I know," with conviction, letting the weight of the world wash away down the drain in a swirl of bloodied water.


End file.
